The Affair: Week 8

by BETH KERY

  “Hmmm?” he purred, sounding supremely relaxed.

  “I know you didn’t like Cristina. But . . . was she ever kind to you and Adrian?”

  She held her breath, wondering how he would react to the question. Maybe it was foolish of her, but Emma didn’t abide by the idea of keeping things locked tight inside. The things Vanni had avoided discussing for most of his life had ended up taking their toll on him . . . hurting him.

  “To Adrian, she was more frequently kind,” he said at last. “But Adrian was very easy to be kind to. Me . . . not so much. Very rarely, she was kind to me, though. It’d come upon her in fits.”

  “Fits?” she asked, lifting her head and looking at him.

  He nodded, his fingers falling out of her hair. “It was like she’d see the light one day and want to do better, mothering us, taking care of us . . . noticing us.” His mouth flattened at the last. “It wouldn’t last.”

  She just stroked his chest, saying nothing. She wanted to bring up the topic of his guilt for Adrian’s accidental death, but she felt she’d already pushed her luck enough by bringing up the topic of Cristina and not ruining their peace.

  * * *

  One morning she awoke in bed to find Vanni gone. She showered and dressed in her swimsuit and a tunic and grabbed her book before going downstairs to breakfast. Mrs. Denis directed her to “his workshop,” as she called it, and provided her with a tea tray. Vanni’s workshop turned out to be a garage that, while not as large as the one at the Breakers, was large enough for four cars and a huge table where various car parts and machinery sat. She found Vanni wearing a pair of coveralls, similar to the ones he wore in Chicago, with one hand inside what appeared to be an engine that sat on the table. He’d glanced around when she greeted him, the small smile on his lips telling her he was pleased to see her.

  “Don’t stop working on my account,” Emma insisted when he withdrew his wrench and picked up an oil-smudged towel to wipe off. “I’ll just sit here and drink my tea and read.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked, and she could tell by the way his gaze drifted back to the engine that he wanted to continue with his task.

  “Of course, if you don’t mind.”

  He shook his head with certainty. She sat on a stool near the table and poured some tea.

  After that, she joined him in his workshop several more times while they were at La Mer. At first, she read while he worked for an hour or so, but once she realized he was quite glad to tell her what he was doing and what his goal was, she forgot the book and just observed him while they talked, learning more about the workings of a car than she’d ever imagined was possible. She recalled what her friend’s father, Mort Forrester, had said about Michael Montand Sr. and Vanni both being brilliant mechanical engineers. She started to understand just the very edges of Vanni’s genius during those visits with him while he worked, and he gave her a rough blueprint for comprehending the advances he’d made in mechanical technology. She respected him even more with that understanding.

  She loved him impossibly more.

  * * *

  Of course days and nights as special as those couldn’t last forever. They planned to fly back to Chicago on Sunday morning, and Emma was due back at work on Monday. As their time together drew to an end, neither of them seemed willing to be apart even for a short time. Vanni asked her what she’d like to do on Saturday, their last day at La Mer, and she replied without hesitation that she wanted to spend it on the beach with him next to the sea.

  They made love after eating the delicious afternoon tea Mrs. Denis had prepared for them, and afterward, Emma drifted off to sleep in Vanni’s arms, lulled by the sound of the waves and his strong, steady heartbeat in her ear. When she awoke, it was evening and the sun was beginning to set. She sat up, disoriented because she was alone. For some reason, a prickle of unease went through her as she stared out at the sea and didn’t see a sign of Vanni.

  “Vanni?” she called, but there was no answer.

  Then she caught sight of him. He was farther out to sea than she’d ever seen him swim, his head appearing small in the shimmering waves. He was going further away still.

  “Vanni!” she yelled, panicked for some reason at the sight. She shoved aside her beach cover-up, which had been draped over her while she slept, and stood naked, staring fixedly at the black spot in the sea that was Vanni’s head. For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe.

  She exhaled with relief when she realized he’d changed directions and was headed back to shore. When he was just past the anchored raft, he stopped swimming, his head breaking the surface. Her naked skin prickled with awareness, and she knew he stared at her standing there, just inside the pavilion. He resumed swimming with gusto toward the beach. He stood when the water was waist-deep and began walking toward shore, his stride unbroken by the rolling waves. The roughening of her skin and that strange sense of tension mounted. He was naked, the evening sun casting a golden-reddish light onto his skin. Her gazed lowered over him, her breath catching.

  He wasn’t only naked, he was fully aroused.

  As he drew closer, she saw the glint of fire in his sea-colored eyes as they lowered over her naked body with a hot, possessive look. She just gaped at him in rising wonder. What had happened? Why did he look so fierce?

  She didn’t have time to put the question to words, because he was taking her into his arms, pulling her against his body and sweeping down to cover her mouth with his. His heat resonated beneath the cool sheen of water, the degree of it shocking her since he’d just been submerged in the sea. He almost felt feverish. He lifted, her feet coming off the beach, and set her down at the end of the lounger.

  “Scoot back and open your thighs,” he said, hovering over her, his face rigid. She hastened back on the lounger, sensing his urgency. He straddled her and came toward her on his hands and knees, the primal vision he made sending a thrill of wariness and anticipation through her. She didn’t know what was happening, but the moment was taut with unspoken, thick emotion.

  He stared at her pussy as he approached, a slight snarl shaping his lips. Without any preamble, he fisted the stalk of his cock and arrowed it into her slit. She was still moist from their previous lovemaking, but the abrupt entry still made her wince.

  He fell down over her and flexed his hips, driving his cock deeper. She gave a shaky cry. “Let me in, Emma,” he commanded quietly, staring down at her with a scoring stare. She opened her legs wider. Her flesh melted around his hard length at the same moment that he grasped her wrists and pushed them above her head. He began to fuck her with long, hard strokes, holding her stare the whole time, his face tight, his eyes blazing. He was telling her something, screaming the truth, but his mouth remained closed the whole time.

  She heard him in the quiet, though; heard his pain and his confusion.

  She lifted her hips, driving her pussy along his thrusting cock, absorbing his unrest and anguish, breaking it like a wave that pounded at the beach.

  “That’s right,” she whispered heatedly. “Fuck me.”

  A convulsion of emotion broke across his face. A groan rattled his throat. He took her harder, lifting his face and wincing in an agony of pleasure. She felt his cock swell in her and jerk viciously. A shout erupted from what seemed like his deepest part. It escalated to a stark howl, the sound causing her neck and forearms to roughen and prickle. She felt him convulse inside her, then the warm rush of his semen as he ejaculated.

  He removed his hands from her wrists, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, and sagged, panting raggedly for air.

  The heaving of his chest and ribs slowly eased. He made a rough choking sound, and she reached for him, bringing him down against her.

  The sound of his ragged breath eased under the rhythmic surf surrounding them. She furrowed her fingers into his thick, damp hair and stroked his back. Eventually, he came u
p off her and fell onto his back. He reached for her and she rested her cheek on his chest.

  “I was married before.”

  She went still at his unexpected words.

  “I know,” she whispered against his chest.

  “How did you know?” he asked, his fingertips feathering down her spine.

  She told him about what Mort Forrester had told her, and also mentioned Niki. He didn’t say anything for a moment when she fell silent.

  “She was a special girl, but I met her at a time in my life when I was ready to . . . to give it all another try. I was tired of being bitter. After Meredith died, it seemed like all the pain came roaring back, even worse than before,” he said starkly. “I used to swim past the spot where Adrian drowned at the Breakers. I’d swim far out to the lake. When I was here, I’d swim far out to sea. I never told anyone before.”

  Her lungs ached, and she realized she was holding her breath.

  “I didn’t think of it as wanting to die. It was a kind of compulsion. I just . . . wondered what would happen. I wondered if I went far enough, if I’d be taken, too. I should have been the one who went on that afternoon. Not Adrian.”

  “No,” she said steadfastly. “Neither of you should have been taken. It was a horrible accident. And you were fortunate to live through it. Blessed. I’m blessed, because you’re here,” she said, kissing his skin. She exhaled shakily when she felt his fingers in her hair.

  “You never told me what happened,” he said. “When you died.” His hand opened at her back, and he made a soothing motion. He must have felt her tremble. His hand stilled. “I’m not asking because I’m curious to find out for myself, Emma,” he said wryly. She lifted her head, hungry to see his face. He met her stare calmly. “I’m not suicidal.”

  She studied him closely, then nodded, sighing in relief at what she saw in his eyes.

  “There was a feeling like floating . . . no, flying,” she said. “I was weightless. Comfortable. In control. But mostly, there was just a feeling,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. “A knowledge, and I knew even better than I know my own name that all was well . . . and that . . . things were bigger and deeper and wider than I’d ever begun to imagine, so big that all my fears were like a drop in the ocean of it.”

  “Do you think that’s what Adrian experienced?” he asked quietly. “Because when he was struggling, and I was trying so hard to keep him above the water . . .” He closed his eyes, and his pain was like a knife in her side. “He was very afraid.”

  “Vanni.”

  He opened his eyes slowly.

  “When the time came, he wasn’t afraid. Please believe me.”

  He stared at her face, rapt.

  “I’m sure enough for both of us,” she said in a pressured whisper.

  His rigid expression broke. He pulled her closer in his arms, and she slid further up his body so that her head nestled in the hollow between his shoulder and neck. She touched her lips to his pulse and closed her eyes at the feeling swelling tight in her chest.

  “When you swam out all those times, what made you turn back?” she asked him in a hushed voice after a moment.

  His hand cupped the back of her head.

  “I never knew,” he replied gruffly, a far-off look in his eyes. “Until now.”

  Emma’s eyes sprung wide. She hid her face in his chest, hoping he hadn’t noticed her flash of hope at his words or the pulse that had begun to throb at her throat.

  “Emma?” he said quietly, his fingers massaging her scalp.

  “Yes?”

  “When we return to the States . . . I don’t want any more of this talk about the weeks and the days. Do you understand?” he asked, his fingers stilling.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his chest, although in truth, his statement had brought up a dozen questions, all of which made her wildly anxious—but also intimidated—to hear his answer.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Emma said good-bye to Mrs. Denis that night. When tears sprung to her eyes as they hugged, Mrs. Denis noticed.

  “There’s no need for that,” she soothed, smoothing Emma’s hair fondly. “You make Vanni happier than I’ve ever seen him, even when he was a boy. We’ll see one another again.”

  Emma nodded, but perhaps Mrs. Denis noticed the brittleness of Emma’s smile, because her expression fell. These days and nights with Vanni had been heaven-sent and poignant. Although wild, desperate hope had sprung into her breast out there on the beach when he’d insisted he wanted more than their total time of eight weeks together, he’d never returned her admission of caring. He certainly never suggested that their affair was anything beyond the sexual variety.

  He’d certainly never spoken the word love, as Emma had, and that absence was beginning to haunt her. Would he ever be capable of anything more than an affair—a sweet, sublime one, yes, but a sexual affair at heart nonetheless?

  It was only a matter of time before these days became hellish memories because he was no longer in her life. She was beginning to regret saying yes to an indefinite extension of their affair. At least doubt would slink in when she wasn’t in his immediate presence. When he was there next to her, stroking her, touching her, making love to her with every glance, Emma felt woefully incapable of saying no to him even for an additional second.

  Yet she also knew perfectly well every additional moment would just tear at her spirit more.

  The rude intrusion of reality onto their happiness came earlier than she’d expected, however, during their last night at La Mer. It was still dark out when Emma was awakened by the sound of a phone ringing. She blinked, disoriented, her eyelids heavy with sleep. If she had to guess, she’d have said she and Vanni just drifted off to sleep an hour or two ago. Vanni didn’t turn on a light, but she sensed him leave the bed. Was there a house phone in here? She’d never noticed one, but that wasn’t a cell phone that had been ringing so jarringly.

  “Hello?” she heard Vanni say, his voice rough, but alert. “Yes,” he said, and she sensed the tension in his tone. She sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up over her bare breasts. She started getting worried in the silence that followed. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked. Her concern escalating, Emma rose from the bed, turned on the light in the bathroom and retrieved a robe. “Well, that’s something. And it’s definitely out? Any idea of the damage yet . . . Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, please call Sheldon and Devitis and inform them, and of course the insurance company. We’ll cease any operations until we can better assess the damage and determine whether it’s safe or not. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  “That was the night security officer at the Montand plant in Antibes,” Vanni said, walking toward her in the dim bedroom. “There’s been a fire.”

  “Is everyone all right?”

  Vanni nodded, but looked worried. “Yes, there was no crew on duty except for night security, and they’re fine. But it looks as if the damage might be extensive to the property and equipment.”

  “Should I get ready and come with you?” Emma asked.

  She saw him squinting at the bedside clock. “No. Two of my vice presidents will be meeting there to assess the damage. Besides, it’ll be dawn soon. Marco will be here in a few hours to take us to the airport.”

  “We can call him and postpone.”

  Vanni shook his head, distracted. “He has the flight scheduled with the airport, and you have work tomorrow. I’ll ask him to try to delay it for an hour or two and try to catch up with you at the airport.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” she said.

  “I will,” he stepped forward and kissed her, his hand cupping her head. “With everyone safe, it’s just a matter of figuring out what needs to be done to get operations up as quickly as possible,” he said against her lips. “You just go with Marco, and I’ll tel
l you about it later.”

  She nodded, looking up at his shadowed face. He touched her jaw.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

  He kissed her once more on the mouth and entered the bathroom to shower.

  * * *

  She had a strange prescience as she waited on the plane later that morning that she wasn’t going to see him anytime soon. Sure enough, her phone rang at a little after ten o’clock and she saw it was Vanni.

  “Hi,” she said, staring out the window of the luxurious private plane. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Vanni admitted. “The insurance adjustor won’t be here for an hour still, and the fire inspector is still trying to figure out the cause and assess any structural damage. We’re also trying to figure out what parts we need to order to get things up and running as soon as possible. Marco can’t stretch things out any longer with the tower. I told him to go ahead and take off and get you home. I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

  “Of course. I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry about the fire.”

  “Crap happens,” he said grimly.

  Emma smiled sadly. “I guess our little jaunt into paradise is at an end.”

  “Our time together isn’t done just because of an accidental fire. Call me as soon as you reach Chicago?”

  She assured him she would. He was right. There was every reason to anticipate more hours in his arms and by his side in the days and nights to come. They had time left.

  Still, she hated the idea of flying away from that golden, azure coastline where she’d known paradise with him.

  * * *

  On Tuesday morning, she was leaving a patient’s house in Lake Forest, when she saw that Vanni had called. They had spoken both when she’d gotten home and last night, when Vanni had wearily told her he would be returning to Kenilworth most likely this evening. Before she even got into her car, she eagerly listened to the message, her heart jumping when she heard he planned to land tonight.